made up her mind as she came along; she
would have her revenge there and then, and chance it. Something kept her
from laying the candle-flame to the time-fuse. She did not know what it
was yet. But, oh! the sharp look of terror in the thin, eager face pierced
her through and through.

"My Gawd! She's not bin killed?" he cried. "Don't tell me she's bin----"

"Lor', gracious goodness, no! What will you think of next?" She lied,
rallying him, with jealousy eating at her own poor heart. "Can't git away,
that's all. Them Sisters are so precious sharp. An'--'Go an' tell 'im,'
she says, ''e'll 'ave to put up with you this once. An' you'll come back
an' tell me all about 'im!'"

He swallowed the bait, and her spirits revived. Emigration Jane, if not
the rose, lived with it. Strictly speaking, they spent a pleasant Sunday,
though when he found himself forgetting the absent one, he pulled himself
sharply up. He saw her part of the way home; more she would not allow.

"And--and"--she whispered at their parting, her eyes avoiding his--"if she
can't git out next Sunday--an' it's a chance whether she does, that Sister
Tobias being such a watchful old cat--would you like to 'ave me meet you
an' tell you all about 'er?"

W. Keyse assented, even eagerly, and so it began. Behold the poor deceiver
drinking perilous joys, and learning to shudder at the thought of
discovery. Think of her cherishing his letters, those passionate epistles
addressed to the owner of the golden pigtail.

Think of her pouring out her poor full heart in those wildly-spelt
missives that found their way to him, and be a little pitiful.

She did not thirst for that revenge now. But, oh! the day would come when
he would find out and have his, in casting her off, with what contempt and
loathing of her treachery she wept at night to picture. This feeling, that
lifted you to Heaven one instant, and cast you down to Hell the next, was
Love. Passion for the man, not yearning for the hearth-place, and the
sheltering roof, and the security of marriage.

She left off walking round the gaol--indeed, rather avoided the vicinity
of the casket that for her had once held a treasure. What would the
Slabberts think of his little Boer-wife that was to have been? What would
he say and do when they let him out? She took to losing breath and colour
at the sound of a heavy step behind her, and would shrink close to the
martial figure of W. Keyse when any hulking form distantly re